


Footsteps in Time

by keiliss



Series: Balar [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works
Genre: Balar, Doriath, F/M, First Age, First Meeting, life long love affair, new colony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-20
Updated: 2011-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-21 14:18:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keiliss/pseuds/keiliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Celeborn and Galadriel, the early years: from Doriath to Balar</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Doriath

**Author's Note:**

>   
> 

~Balar

The sea lay moondark under the stars, the ebb and flow of the waves strongest on this the harbour side of Círdan's house. Galadriel impatiently pushed her hair back behind her ears and stared out into the darkness.

Nothing.

The night lay serene despite the low wind that seemed to blow wherever one was on Balar. It was filled with ordinary sounds: frogs, night-stirring creatures, the sea. Nothing to explain the instinct that had driven her from sleep and sent her outdoors in search of fresh air and answers.

She had woken like this before, to the footsteps of history marching across her life. She had watched brothers suffer and die, felt the loss of friends. There had been births, too, nameless but potent, some filled with menace, one a small, bright star of hope. But this time there had been nothing, just deep, nameless foreboding and a sense of events too close, too harsh.

"Your wrap. Anyone abroad at this hour would be shocked to find you dressed like this."

His voice was low and deep, melodic with laughter, at one with her heartbeat, with the breath flowing in and out. She had felt him before she heard him. Confident hands draped a light, woolen wrap around her before moving to rest easily on her shoulders as Celeborn stood behind her looking out towards the sleeping dark of the shore.

"What happened?" he asked finally as she kept silent. She moved closer, and he brought his arms round to circle her waist. She rested her hands on his forearms and leaned her head back against him with a sigh.

"Don't know," she admitted. "It was - I woke as though someone had called me."

"No faces?" he asked carefully. "No voices?" Celeborn had held her more than once through the aftermath of faces and voices. One such vision had been instrumental in bringing them here. This, though, seemed different. He held her closer, resting his cheek against her hair as Galadriel shook her head slowly.

"Nothing. Not like the other times, no." She had told him about Fingon's death weeks before news reached them of the defeat that had taken the High King's life and passed the crown to yet another of her kin, this time an absentee king in a hidden city. She had passed the days after the Battle of Unnumbered Tears calmly, but with sad, quiet eyes; she had become accustomed to loss.

"I'll make you some tea if you like?" he offered, although he made no move to release her. Mîrant's herbal tea usually helped her to relax after one of those incidents when worlds met and time and space entwined.

"Not yet." Her eyes were still on the shore, her face lifted to the cool, salt air. Celeborn never tried to understand her gift; it was outside of his terms of reference. He knew horses and trees, how to listen, how to command. He had learned about swords as well as bows, he could chart a path from the stars, he understood the needs of the land. He had his strengths, she had hers. There was no more need for him to understand her Sight than for her to determine the tension of a bow.

So it had been from the day of their first meeting, a sense of completion, unshakeable, undeniable.

 

~Doriath

Rumour of the wonders of Menegroth, of gardens made from precious gems and of coloured lights dancing on filigreed stone, were a constant source of umbrage to newly-arrived Noldorin princes denied entry into the Guarded Realm within the Great Mother's girdle of protection. The insult was only exacerbated by Elu Thingol's demand that the Noldor content themselves with the unpopulated portions of Beleriand. The King, they were informed by his envoys, was lord of all the land, and his people's needs came before those of the interlopers who had arrived loudly, bringing the new sky-lights in their wake.

Of all those who had crossed the sea into Exile, both amongst the followers of Feanor and of Fingolfin, he decreed that only his brother Olwë's grandchildren were to be allowed entrance into his fabled domain

Awe-inspiring to look upon though it might be, living there was probably another matter entirely as Artanis discovered on her very first visit. The approach was through deep forest protected by a girdle of shimmering, misty otherness that came and went on the corner of vision as she and Finrod passed through it. Strange, hidden pathways led to a great, stony hill beyond a swift-flowing river, where huge doors stood wide and incongruous.

Within lay a world part fantasy, part nightmare to guests raised under another sky in an open city amongst the pristine beauty of Aman. Colour was everywhere. Twinkling lamps on delicate brackets lit mosaics and jewelled copies of the birds, flowers and forest creatures of the world beyond. Painted murals and carvings adorned the walls, the floors were set with small white pebbles, while doorways hid behind gossamer hangings woven in unlikely shades.

And there were people everywhere; Sindar, Silvan, staring, whispering in their soft, bird-like tongue, smiling behind polite hands.

"Do they have nothing better to do?" Finrod had asked their guide angrily on that first visit, resenting being stared at as though he and his sister were some strangely exotic new species. The guide had looked at him in amazement.

"They have not seen your like before," he had explained in the careful Quenya he had learned in his dealings with Fëanor's sons. "They wonder if your hair is dyed and if so with what - we do not have its like here." He said this in a tone that suggested he had his own questions on this matter. Brother and sister exchanged eloquent glances and Artanis made a mental note to tie up her hair at the first opportunity.

The King held court in his Pavilion, a structure that excelled for bejeweled, brightly-hued extravagance. Courtiers lined the walls or perched like birds on narrow stone benches, the hum of many voices forming a backdrop that somehow complimented the surroundings. Elu Thingol himself was a figure of imposing authority, tall and muscular, with dark silver hair, grey eyes and an air of unquestioned importance. He wore more jewellery than either of them had ever seen on one person. When they bowed their heads in a manner suitable when greeting a kinsman there was a low gasp from the assembled courtiers, and it occurred to Artanis that there had been no-one before them to dispute his supremacy. No-one but Morgoth.

They were greeted though not offered seats and had then to endure a litany of questions: about their parents, their grandparents, about the strange lights in the sky which had superceded the soft star-glow to which the people of Beleriand were accustomed, about the Princes they journeyed with and those who had arrived ahead of them with drawn swords and a blazing hatred for the Dark One.

They were still making their careful answers when a sudden stir amongst the courtiers followed by utter silence alerted them to the arrival of the Maia. She moved like a shadow across the sun, small, dark-haired, graceful as flowing water. She seemed to glide up the three steps to Thingol's throne, where she took her place on the seat that had stood conspicuously vacant beside his. The newcomers needed no-one to tell them that this was Melian, Queen of Doriath.

She drew her mantle about her, settled folds of cloth, then looked at them out of unlikely moss green eyes. "Far they come, yes," she said in a light, clear voice that seemed to move and dip on the air of the cavern before falling away behind the stillness. "Far they come and further still to go."

Brother and sister felt ‘something' pass over them; a touch, light as a child's finger to a butterfly wing, brushed the fire within. Finrod jerked, startled, but Artanis kept still, permitting rather than fighting the invasion. She had walked in forests with Yavanna and recognised strength beyond her ability to resist. The touch withdrew, then returned to her.

"New," the silvery voice said, etched bright with interest. "Different to those born here. The light of the Great Ones has shone on them. They smell Other."

Watching under her lashes, Artanis saw Thingol give the fey creature a sidelong, almost uneasy look. So, she thought, there is one thing in this kingdom over which he has no control. One person he cannot predict. The green eyes returned to her as though she had spoken aloud. Bird-curious, the exquisite head tilted to the side.

"You will stay," the Maia stated categorically. "We will talk. You are not like our Children, you are Other. You will tell me of the Undying lands, and of your king, and of the sky-lights you brought here."

"Lady, those were not ours to bring," Finrod broke in, concerned for his sister. "Those were set in the heavens by the Mighty and are none of our doing."

The moss-hued eyes moved slowly to him and narrowed, and the siblings instinctively drew closer together.

"It is the custom that the Queen be addressed as Daurnana," Thingol interrupted sharply. Turning to the Maia he said almost placatingly, "They have told me the sky lights were signs from the Shining Ones, a means to expose the works of the Enemy."

Melian looked up at him, her face warming into an adoring smile. "The Night Walkers cannot come where we are, my King," she said confidently. "We have no need of the Lights. Let them do what they will, Doriath is safe. I have said it, and it is so."

\-----

The sun rose and set; the years it measured turned. Melian, sensing in Artanis the seeds of true power, was amused to take the Aman-born for a student, teaching her how to look deep, how to spin webs of energy, how to reach out to the fabric of Arda itself. In one thing only was Melian constant; other than her near-obsession with Thingol her attention waxed and waned, much like the moon for which she slowly developed a grudging fondness. Sensing the Maia's interest was fey and unpredictable, knowing that in time she would no longer retain it and would find herself discarded, Artanis stayed and learned all she could.

The caverns of Menegroth were works of wonder, but Artanis had been born in a place of open spaces, cool breezes, clear skies. The weight of rock above her head oppressed. Some days the sense of confinement was almost more than she could bear, but for a guest to walk alone in the forest was frowned upon. Melian gave her tinkling laugh and said she might wander off and become lost, whereas Thingol, more blunt and to the point, stated that in the absence of her brothers she was his responsibility, and as such she would remain where he could be certain of her welfare.

Outside, below the walkway to the bridge, she found a flat rock that overlooked the rushing river. There she went to sit when the walls of Menegroth seemed to be squeezing closed around her. She had no friends amongst the courtiers; Menegroth was a conservative and inward-looking society - as, she supposed, had been parts of Tirion - and she sat in their midst like a rare exotic bird with her golden plumage. Feeling isolated, she sought her own company at those times when there was no need for her to dance attendance on Melian. She soon learnt to revel in private space away from the incessant twittering of voices pitched higher than was the norm to her ears.

"Like a garland of light."

The voice wrapped around her with the soft warmth of the cloak Aegnor had sent her, woven by Nandor from the fleece of small black and white creatures that grazed on the hills about his new holding. She turned her head slowly, and it was as though she knew what she would see before she saw him. Hair like polished silver, a confident smile, a cloak of forest green edged with sea-blue. And tall - she was tall herself and therefore valued this. Their eyes met, and it was as though they had always known one another.

"Your hair," he explained. "It looks as though someone wove it from sunlight."

From anyone else it would have been hyperbole, but she knew it was no more than his thought and smiled. He approached and she made space for him. He sat down beside her on her rock and looked around.

"Caves are new to you," he said, knowing. "You miss the forest."

"And the water," she admitted. "There was water flowing beneath my bedroom window at home. I miss its voice."

"Tell me of home," he insisted. "Is it very different to here? Are you sorry you left?"

She smiled at him, at the silver hair, the blue eyes, the strength, at the aura of calm that surrounded him, so unlike her; a balance to her lack of inner order. "Home is behind me," she told him. "I came here to make a new one."

"Not in Menegroth though," he observed, reaching a cautious finger to touch a tress more lightly than the Maia had touched her fea. "But we can begin here. My name is Celeborn, Elu Thingol is my grandfather's brother."

"Hello, Celeborn the Wise," she responded nodding, her smile in her eyes. "Yes, we begin here."

\-----

Time passed, but not as before. Life became full, almost complete. Artanis studied what and when Melian chose to teach her, and the rest of her time was spent with Celeborn. Kin to the King and a distant cousin to Artanis herself, there could be no objection to her exploring the forest beyond the confines of Menegroth in his company, and explore they did.

He showed her trickling streams dancing over steps of natural stone, led her down secret paths to the groves and thickets dear to his heart. She met those of his friends and kindred who lived above ground, secure within the Great Mother's girdle. They rode, he taught her to climb trees so that he could show her Doriath from on high, they swam in cool, rushing water. There were kisses, and more than kisses; heated, hungry embraces, release offered by willing fingers, hands and mouths. They abstained only from the last, the final union; it would happen in its own time, when the tide of their loving drew them to the next wave's crest. This final joining was sacred, entwining hrondo and fea and not to be approached lightly.

Her brothers visited often, keeping watch over her welfare, uncertain of this Sindarin Prince from whom she seemed inseparable. Then came the final visit, with Elu Thingol demanding to know the truth of rumours brought to him by Círdan of the Falas of the true reasons for the return of the Noldor. Angrod it was who answered him, offering the full tale which Artanis had avoided when Melian had casually asked why the New Elves had chosen to leave the Undying Lands for the imperfections of Ennor. Melian lacked curiosity to pursue the topic, her dragonfly favour easily diverted elsewhere, but Thingol was not so easily turned aside from matters relating to his brother's welfare. When the truth finally lay exposed his rage was immense, causing even Melian to quail at its force.

The upshot was clear and uncompromising: the tongue of the Exiles would be heard no more within the boundaries of Beleriand, and none of the Aman-born, including his blood kin, would ever again set foot within Doriath for fear that the blood-lust of the Noldor might contaminate his people.

"We can go to Finrod," Celeborn told Artanis as she began packing her few possessions. "Nargothrond is an easy ride from Doriath and anyway, he is the one nearest to your heart. He has his doubts about me, but in time he will see that our place is together."

"He is delving a cavern home to rival this one," she told him, carefully wrapping a collection of tiny glass figurines - a gift from Luthien to mark Thingol's latest festival, the turning of the year. "Aegnor would be the better choice - high lands, a wide sky, the scent of growing things on the air."

There was no discussion; if she had to leave, so would he. Had their situations been reversed, she would have done the same.

"It is a hard thing, to be told to give up your mother tongue," she said quietly, folding delicate cloth with careful hands. "Even our names reflect its use. What would he have us do? Take new names, cast off those gifted by our parents?"

"Nerwen, Man-maiden," Celeborn responded teasingly, collecting slippers in pairs and placing them in a woven bag. "Over-tall though quite attractive in a very Noldorin way." He ducked the threatened blow, laughing. "Alatáriel is who you have been to me since we met. Or Galadriel, as my niece Nimloth calls you. It fits you, I think - gives you dignity."

She snorted and elbowed him inelegantly. The last born, the only girl in a tribe of boys, dignity was still a thing she needed to remind herself of.

\-----

Despite the ban, Artanis was not required to leave Menegroth. Her interests threatened, Melian waited until Elu Thingol's rage had subsided and then, with sweet words and tender looks, pleaded to be allowed to keep her student. With a practicality normally foreign to her, she pointed out that Eärwen's children had taken no part in the shedding of inappropriate blood. Furthermore, had they borne arms at all it would have been in defense of their mother's people. Her reasoning was unusually clear and succinct, including a reminder that, as a female, Artanis would have been unarmed. Melian had no idea if this held true for the New Elves from beyond the sea, but it was a telling argument and she pressed it home ruthlessly, all loving smiles and sensual touches.

Predictably, Elu Thingol relented. After a long night of searing eroticism, he emerged from his chambers to declare that Artanis, daughter of Finarfin, would after all be permitted to remain in Doriath. Later that day his great-nephew pleased him by offering the news that, to honour his decree, the Noldor Princess had decided that henceforth she would be known by a new, Sindarin name: Galadriel.

\-----

While the years passed calmly under the trees, beyond Doriath the world continued in turmoil. The great dragon Glaurung came forth with fire and terror, but he was still young, weak enough to be driven back to Angband to heal and grow. An uneasy peace ensued, giving the Noldor time for pursuits other than warfare. For Galadriel life went on as before, although she now travelled regularly beyond the boundaries of Doriath to visit with her forbidden kin. Celeborn seldom shared these excursions, not wishing to intrude on time shared with her brothers and old friends. When she returned, bearing small, cunningly crafted gifts for his family and the convoluted gossip of the Noldorin factions, it was notable that it took several days before her grasp on Sindarin was once more fluent. Celeborn, who knew that amongst the Noldor Princes the High Tongue was spoken freely, ached for her need to cast off something so much a part of who she was.

Once Finrod settled in Nargothrond, a short journey from Doriath, her visits became frequent. In truth she exchanged one cave dwelling for another, but the ride exhilarated her and the wind blew in her face unhindered by trees. Also, those dwelling in Nargothrond were more Noldor than Sindar, and many were old acquaintances, allowing her to take her ease and be once more the Artanis of childhood. The adventure she had craved and had thought to find on the far shore had proved illusory; she was more confined than she had ever been in the years in Tirion.

After one such visit she retuned full of excitement at a tale her brother had told her and which she had at first dismissed as Finrod teasing her as had been his wont when they were children.

"Long haired, bearded, with speech that is strange to the ear. Their bodies are covered with fine hairs, he said," she told Celeborn, her eyes shining. "We heard talk of how one day there would be a new race, the Secondborn, short lived and fragile but dear to the One. This must surely be them."

"Where will they live? And who will care for them? Their needs are outside of our knowledge - how could we guide such beings?" Celeborn asked with the typical Sindarin urge to nurture young, growing things.

She blinked. "I imagine they will care for one another? As to where they will live - he wants them to settle hereabouts - they will be safer than in the wild." As ever, she was the final word in Noldor practicality. She smiled wickedly. "He even sent an envoy here to the king, asking his wisdom in this matter. That should butter him up sufficiently." She lay back with her head in his lap and toyed with a lock of his hair, her eyes wistful. "I would love to see them. They sound - fascinating."

Celeborn tapped her nose lightly. "Be careful, you grow more like the Daurnana by the day - curious as ten squirrels. Perhaps we will go and look for them some time, then. Easy enough if they settle near Doriath."

"They couldn't pass the Girdle, of course," she mused, her thoughts running along where they might live, how their settlements might look, what their customs could be like. "No member of the Secondborn could set foot in Doriath."

As she spoke she shuddered, the skin crawling on her body and he looked down at her in alarm. Her sea-blue eyes closed briefly, and when they opened they held a shadow. "Perhaps some will come here," she said more quietly. "But there is the whisper of great events attached to that thought."

"Leave it then," he told her briskly. The more time she spent with Melian, the more frequent these unsettling moments of precognition became. "When the time comes is time enough. Let it be. Come, sit up and kiss me. I have been three long months without you."

Laughing and stretching, she wriggled with exaggerated sensuality, making them both smile. Direct and open, to play the coquette was never her way. She sat up and took his face between her long, cool hands. "Celeborn the Wise, indeed," she said, leaning forward to place a light kiss on his lips. "Very well - I will leave it. The future will arrive when it does - no point in living it in advance."

"None at all," he agreed. "I can find better things for us to do with the here and now. Come, I will show you."

\-----

The future came as it always does, but it did not find Galadriel waiting for it in Doriath. Three hundred and twenty years after Fingolfin set foot on the shore of Middle-earth and his host greeted the first rising of the moon with trumpet calls, Elu Thingol called his brother's grandson to have private discourse with him and his closest advisors. Melian was notably absent, engaged in pursuits the nature of which were unclear even to her lord. Whatever they were, they kept her busy and uninvolved in the discussion.

After, Celeborn did as he had done almost from the day they met: he went in search of Galadriel to share his news and hear her opinion.

"But - you say no-one lives there? There must be a reason for that surely, some fault in the place itself."

Celeborn shook his head. They were sitting outside on 'their' rock, watching the trees reflected in the water, autumn leaves staining the crystal clarity with bright, warm shades. This was Galadriel's favourite time of the year; she loved the colours and the crispness in the air. "No-one has ever travelled far enough south to find out. For all we know, there might be Nandor living there. Perhaps," with a sidelong smile at her, knowing what would pique her interest, "Perhaps your brother's Secondborn have found their way there."

She gave an unladylike snort at the transparent attempt. "Perhaps. Perhaps horses with horns. Perhaps chickens the size of eagles? Seriously - why? Why do this?"

Celeborn looked out over the forest and then, his voice low, said, "Because Elu Thingol is old and wise and knows that the current peace is no more than a respite, that once the firedrake has its full strength the Enemy will come upon us all with warfare. His main interest lies with your kindred, certainly, but his eye will surely turn this way again. Doriath stands strong and guarded, but the Great Mother is Maiar. Morgoth - Morgoth was one of the Shining Ones. The King wishes a haven beyond the battlefields should the need arise."

While he spoke Galadriel felt the air around them to make certain that no-one gifted sensed the import of his words. Melian was not the only one who disliked the outside world and saw no need for Doriath to look beyond the borders she had set down. She said nothing of this to Celeborn, however. When he had finished, all she asked was, "How many of us, and when do we leave?"

\-----

Melian was predictably furious although she vented her anger with care, not wishing a confrontation with her lord. To please him she had made his forest secure from all danger, even going so far as to place a girdle of mists and forgetfulness around it to assuage his fear of discovery by the Dark One who ruled in the north. She saw no need for a southern lair, suspecting that in time Thingol might feel its lure and be tempted to leave this place - and her.

"She says I cannot go. It is unfitting for an unattached female and the king's guest to travel with colonists and warriors." Galadriel informed Celeborn dryly at the end of a recital of Melian's objections. "For the rest, I think the King will withstand her, though your numbers might be reduced. My presence though..." Her face was worried, eyes darkened to sea green, her mouth severe.

"Your brother would give his permission, surely?" Celeborn asked, looking up from the inadequate map he was studying. "Nothing more would be necessary."

It was unthinkable to either that she remain here while he left on a mission that could take hundreds of years to complete, with at least as much time before he could justify a return to Menegroth to offer his personal report.

"I... have no idea," she admitted honestly. Finrod was glad she was safe in Doriath and had no part in the risks faced daily by the Noldor in a mainly hostile world. Her brothers were also, she knew, relieved that she was taking no part in the eternal politics that wove through their lives. However, none of them approved her closeness to Thingol's kinsman, and there were regular comments about 'finding a suitable match amongst our own kind' when she ventured out on one of her visits. It was never discussed, but she knew that Celeborn, too, faced resistance to his choice of a landless Exile.

They sat quietly for a while, as quiet as it was possible to be in Doriath. Cave dwelling meant little privacy, day and night the sounds of voices and footsteps were a fact of life. Finally he said, "Well, I suppose if we were bound, no-one could say much more?"

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "As in - together for eternity, before witnesses?"

He put the map aside and turned to her quizzically. "How would that be for you?"

"Well, I always assumed we would eventually - I just never gave it much thought before," she confessed, trying to get a final look at the diagram of lines and open spaces. Far too many open spaces she suspected, designating the unknown.

"But the idea doesn't - displease you?" Light blue eyes studied her, serious now, waiting.

Her eyes met his, equally serious, then she moved into his ever-welcoming arms chuckling softly. "If you truly deserved the title of Celeborn the Wise you would know the answer to that without asking. No, it does not displease me. Not at all. I have been waiting all my life for you to ask."

\-----

They exchanged rings with the King and Queen of Doriath as witness. Galadriel's brothers were all present; Elu Thingol had given permission for them to enter the Guarded Realm for the occasion. Both the laws of the Noldor and the customs of the Sindar required that the bride's kindred be present and honoured. The ceremony took place in the Pavilion itself before the assembled nobility of Doriath under a canopy of flowers. Melian left while the promises were still being exchanged. Her pupil had rejected her, and in the strange depths of her unknowable mind it was already as though Galadriel had never been.

Music played, dancing commenced. As soon as it was decent to do so, Celeborn collected his wife and together they took leave of her brothers who would travel back through the forest once the King's health had been drunk.

"Pass by Nargothrond when you leave," Finrod insisted, all golden hair and warm smiles, his arm around his sister's shoulders but his eyes on her mate. His brothers, having loudly toasted the new addition to the family, added their voices to his. They would pause at Nargothrond, too, before continuing on to their own lands. "Who can tell when next we will all have a chance to meet? Times are uncertain, and your journey takes you far from these lands."

Galadriel was quiet as they traversed passageways to reach her rooms, further from the main living area, more private and their usual choice when they wished to spend time alone. There was no point in finding new accommodation - they would spend only the first few weeks of their marriage in Doriath before taking to the road. When the door curtain fell closed behind them, he looked at her seriously.

"What?" he asked.

Her eyes met his. "I felt - I felt I might never see him again," she said in a small, thin voice. "All of them. Probably no more than the fear of us being so far apart, I know, but..."

"A few hundred years are as nothing to our kind," he told her gently, eager to avoid premonitions of gloom on this of all nights. "You mistake fear of separation for loss, nothing more. They will be here when you return - and perhaps a few young ones with hair of Vanyar gold, too." He would not be sorry to get her away from Melian's influence. Her instincts had taken a morbid turn of late.

She shook her head sadly, her eyes shadowed. "Their lines end here, I think. I can feel it on my skin, I..."

"Not tonight," he interrupted firmly, lifting her into his arms and carrying her to the bed. They were of similar height, he stumbled, almost dropping her, and they fell together laughing. " The future can follow in its own time," he told her, leaning over as she lay in her wedding finery, her hair spread out across the pillows like silver-shot gold silk. "This time belongs to us."

Their union was all either of them had imagined it could be, soft touches and tender kisses, worshipping one another with mouths, eyes, the gift of touch. And finally a joining that was more natural than breath, more obviously right than anything either of them had ever dreamed possible. They drowned in one another, came up for air laughing with joy, sank back down into passion's sea. Their hearts had been one from the day they first met beside the river, and now body and soul followed suit.

Very much later, lying drowsing in his arms, Galadriel murmured, "We should have done this long ago. This was not one of your better ideas, Celeborn the Wise. It was your best."

 

‘ends part one'


	2. Edenbar

~Taur-im-Duinath

The journey south lasted several moon cycles. Celeborn and Galadriel left before the main party to spend a week in Nargothrond where she could introduce her mate to the many friends who had not yet had an opportunity to meet him. In answer to queries about the haste of the binding and the lack of the traditional year of waiting beforehand, she merely laughed and explained that there had been nothing for them to decide or to consider, therefore no need to wait. The joy in her eyes silenced any further questions.

She spent the night before they left with her family. Aegnor and Angrod had waited for her in Nargothrond, and Angrod's son Orodreth had remained there during the binding. He had just taken a wife himself, a young Sindarin maid from the Falas. Galadriel liked her immediately and wished they could have met sooner. Orodreth and his father had a history of unease, and he had made his home with Finrod, as had another dissatisfied son, Celebrimbor son of Curufin. He had his grandfather's curiosity and sense for beauty but lacked Fëanor's ego. He and Galadriel got on well, although Celeborn harboured suspicions towards all who shared the Kinslayer's blood.

They took their leave at dawn, at that time when the sky was no longer dark nor yet light. They crossed the river at the secret place known only to the inhabitants of Nargothrond and a very few others and, retrieving their waiting horses, set off to begin their married life under foreign trees. Galadriel looked back over her shoulder until the crossing was out of sight. She said nothing to Celeborn, but she knew soul-deep that she would never see her brothers again.

\-----

They crossed the Andram at the Gap, forded rivers and endured bare, open plains. Even under the current peace no place knew true safety, although their number was such that none of the wandering servants of the Enemy thought to confront them. They met no-one save for bands of wandering Avari who needed little coaxing to share a meal, but who had nothing to tell them of the southlands beyond the fact that there were trees and that where the trees ended the dry-lands began. At one point seabirds, further inland than was their norm, made Celeborn contemplate seeking out Cirdan, but their route kept them inland and he let the impulse pass.

The journey gave them time to get to know one another better. They travelled slowly to allow for the pace of the wagons and those elves with horses chose to walk rather than ride. Although she had a fine horse, Finrod's parting gift, Galadriel preferred to be amongst the walkers, feeling the earth beneath her feet as she learnt the moods and fancies of Ennor. She had been on the Hither Shore for over three hundred years, but most of them had been spent in Doriath, within the confines of Menegroth. For her this was the beginning of the adventure she had sought when she chose to follow her brothers and uncle rather than turn back with her father on the brink of the Helcaraxë.

The travellers rested in the heat of the day, taking a meal in the late afternoon, and then went on their way beneath the stars, something that still felt more natural to all of Elvenkind. Galadriel gloried in the sun's warmth and its golden light, but she never quite managed to persuade Celeborn to abandon his love for the night's softness. Eventually they reached the treeline of a forest that stretched on as far as the eye could see, or at least so said the first scouts. Celeborn, climbing a tree to confirm this for himself, estimated their new home might be larger even than Doriath. Even when approached by Silvan folk with a long love for branch and leaf, the trees were strange and quiet; he wondered if they had ever encountered elves before.

Eight days' journey into the midst of the forest brought them to a broad clearing beside which bubbled a fierce-flowing spring. There was consultation, discussion, a few brief arguments, and finally they decided that this would be a good place for their first settlement. Edenbar they called it - the New Home. Celeborn sent out armed patrols in all directions to see if any threat could be discovered, and while they waited for word, wood was collected for shelters and a central fire pit dug for cooking. Unless some place vastly more amenable were discovered soon, it was generally held that this would be their home, the heart of the southern haven.

As soon as they were settled a report of their journey with a description of their destination was sent to back Elu Thingol, carried by three of their number who had had second thoughts and whose hearts longed for home and kin. Months later a pair of adventurous young elves arrived back in their stead. They carried the king's blessing and instructions that Celeborn refrain from overmuch contact with the Dark Elves believed to be living on the western fringes of the great wooded expanse. He expressed no interest in the little village of mortals that had been discovered further east. Galadriel was fascinated by them, but they regarded the elves with such superstitious awe that Celeborn instructed they be left strictly alone unless they were in need of urgent aid.

Galadriel spent days in the woods, watching them while being careful to evade their notice. In those early days she developed a fondness for the race that would never leave her. Ever the dutiful wife however, and understanding how vital it was that the leader's authority be respected by all, she heeded Celeborn's instruction and avoided direct contact. Life under the trees in a place not wrapped around by mists suited her well; she was happy, in love, and felt more at peace than at any time in her adult life.

One morning Celeborn found her turning in a circle, golden hair flying, her head thrown back as she smiled up at the trees and the blue summer sky visible between the leaves.

"What's this?" he asked, laughing at her infectious joy. "I always said sunlight could be a dangerous thing - does it have such a strong effect?"

She stopped turning to smile at him, her eyes alight with pleasure. "I dreamt of a star," she said happily. "A candle was lit, something good came into the world. I have no idea what or where, but I can feel another strand waiting to touch my life. I came out to welcome the sun and I suddenly realised how free we are here." She stepped into his arms smiling, her hands resting palms flat against his chest. "This I promise you," she declared, determination showing behind the joy. "Never and for no-one will I ever, ever again live in a cave."

In the north in Nargothrond, Orodreth's Sindarin wife had just given birth to a son. Looking deep into the babe's clear blue eyes, intuition spoke to her and, minor royal though he was, the name she gave him was one that would fit a king: Gil-galad, Star of Splendour.

Elu Thingol had also sent word that he wished the settlers to search out a good, fortified hill below which to delve a more secure home. None such existed in the immediate vicinity and Celeborn, wishing to give the little community time to find its feet, had kept this information to himself. Watching Galadriel now, he was certain he had taken the right decision.

\-----

No-one could say with certainty when things began to go wrong. Small matters to begin with, barely worth note other than as anomalies: there were fewer birds, rabbits, a small but regular part of their diet, became scarce. The ice-cool spring, which had originally flowed fast and clear, slowed to a trickle even though there was more rain than before and the air felt chill and damp. More worrisome, trees that had begun to respond to the elves' presence withdrew once more into themselves. Many of the settlers became afflicted with a form of melancholy and went about their duties with downcast eyes and slow steps.

"Too alien to Doriath," was Galadriel's explanation as she and Celeborn sat one morning watching a scene that had previously been filled with talk and good-natured laughter. Now, water was collected, leaves were swept in something close to silence, and the singing that had been part of their day was stilled. "They miss the security of Menegroth, the sense of the Great Mother's presence throughout Doriath. Here - they feel alone, I think. You and I are still untried, not centre enough for them."

He nodded. Although a child of the Guarded Realm himself, he had slowly reached similar conclusions. "What about the birds?" he asked finally. "Every animal we found when first we arrived has either crept away or their numbers have dramatically reduced. And it has been months since our patrols met any of the Avari crossing this place they call the World Wood - and those that did were all travelling south."

She shook her head sadly. "There is a shadow over all the world," she told him, resting her hand on his - though whether to give or receive comfort was not clear. "I hear it on the wind, I feel it in the earth. Nature is holding its breath." More softly she added, "The shadow spreads from the North. I fear for my people."

\-----

And then the Secondborn began to die. The patrols reported their meagre crops had begun failing and the water from the small river that passed their village had turned muddy, contaminated by a rock slide further upstream. The old were the first affected, a thing to be expected in any race lacking the life of the Eldar. The next to succumb were the children. Galadriel, who had compromised Celeborn's instructions to the extent of occasionally playing with the little ones when they ventured into the forest to pick berries, was heart broken. Each little form that was laid to rest in the burial place at the turn of the river tore at her with feelings of guilt and helplessness.

The elves shared what they could of their forest gleanings, leaving gifts at the edge of the village, but there was precious little to share. The burial place grew, several new markers being added each cycle of the moon. Finally the patrolling warriors reported that those few that remained had packed what was still of value to them and vanished into the forest, moving south as had the Avari before them.

One night a dream came to Galadriel, vivid, bright with sound and colour - leaping flames and flowing lava, the unmistakable clash of fighting, elven voices raised in battle anthem, the sky-borne roar as the Dragon passed across her vision. She woke crying and trembling to Celeborn's insistent shaking, but wakefulness brought no respite; for the next few days she walked with a face upon which horror was deep-etched, watching from afar as the siege of Angband was broken in the cataclysm that would be known down history as the Battle of Sudden Flame.

She felt Aegnor and Angrod die one by one, falling to the swords of the enemy in desperate battle, and her grief as she shared their death throes chilled Celeborn's blood. He alone would come near her at that time; she appeared bereft of her senses and the elves from Doriath, who admitted to no stake in the great battles being waged far in the north, kept their distance from her. Amongst themselves they said that the Noldor had brought it upon themselves, attempting to pen the unpenable. Far rather be like Elu Thingol; retreat to a safe place and let the darkness go past.

By the time Fingolfin made his final journey, spurred on by rage and desperation, the worst of her anguish had abated. She walked with her father's brother in spirit as he sought the Enemy in his own land, faced him, fought and died. She sat through it all with her back resting straight against a tree trunk, tears streaming down her face. Celeborn knelt beside her holding her hand, but she looked past and through him as she watched the passing of her king.

After the Dagor Bragollach, the shadow on the forest seemed deeper. Slowly at first, then in increasing numbers, the settlers from Doriath began to speak of home. Celeborn insisted they first send word to Elu Thingol to discover his will in this matter, but privately Galadriel, whose eyes no longer had the clear unshaded depths of former times, said to him, "They have lived most of their lives under Melian's protection, within the fences of Doriath. This place was always alien to them, frighteningly open. So much has happened, my love. Perhaps it is time to think about turning for home."

They were sitting near the sullen spring, the forest around them almost silent save for the occasional bird call. So few birds now. Celeborn took a lock of her hair and let it slide across his fingers gently. After her mourning, he was careful of her as though with someone who had suffered physical wounds. "I have lived my life in Doriath, my heart, and this place gave me joy. Why would I be the only one?"

She shook her head. "You were prepared to look at it as a new place, a new way to live. I think they really wanted a second Doriath - as your king did too."

He noted her use of the term 'your king'. Previously her loyalty had wavered between her people and her kindred by marriage, but no longer.

"Perhaps he did," Celeborn said on a sigh. He had never told anyone about the order to dig caves. He wondered how much difference it would have made had he complied and sent the patrols out in search of fortifiable hills rather than potential allies. No matter now, the time for that was past. "We will give it five more years," he told her finally, the figure coming unbidden as a comfortable space. "Then we will decide. All of us."

\-----

Despite the evidence of his eyes, Celeborn stuck stubbornly to the deadline he had set. Long before the five years were up he was sending foraging parties far afield in search of food and to bring back water to supplement the meagre trickle from the spring. The trees drooped, dull, insensate, the forest became a dark, cheerless place even in full daylight. They spent the final weeks slowly dismantling the shelters and rolling up the woven screens lovingly ornamented in the days when the forest had been a new friend. Galadriel wordlessly kept one such screen. Made by her own hand, she who disliked weaving, it depicted a group of mortal children playing in a forest glade.

The waiting time had passed quietly for her. When a messenger from Doriath finally arrived to see if they still lived, he brought a letter from Finrod Felagund to his sister, which the Noldo had begged be delivered when chance allowed. She had no need to break the seal to know all the news that touched her personally, but she opened it and read, sharing with her mate and anyone else who had an interest the full story of Morgoth's assault and the efforts of the Noldor in the face of disaster. Fingon was now High King, a prospect that made her twitch an eyebrow, though even to Celeborn she made no mention of her foreboding at so much authority in the hands of one too easily swayed by grim, eternally driven Maedhros.

She wrote back in turn, painting a picture of exaggerated optimism regarding both the settlement and her life. "No need to worry him," she told Celeborn when she admitted to her small deception - there were no secrets between them. "He has enough to worry about, why add to his concerns?"

When the appointed day arrived they left at first light, dousing the coals in the fire pit for the first time since their arrival. There was no thought of travelling by moonlight this time; even in broad daylight the forest made them uneasy. Following his scouts' advice, Celeborn led them north and west. They walked, rested, walked further, the belongings they had salvaged packed upon the horses' willing backs. When the trees finally began to thin, decisions had to be taken. They camped on a hill from where they could see the land that lay under the authority of Cirdan, Lord of the Falas falling away to the sea. Before them the Sirion wound its turbulent way, offering no crossing place this close to the estuary.

There was a divide amongst the former colonists; those wanting to take the straight route home through the Gap of Andram to Doriath and those who wished to find a way across the Sirion and then tarry along the coast, perhaps travelling as far as the great Telerin city of Eglarest. The predominant view was presented by Arasdínen, whose scouting party had set the route they had followed through the forest.

"If we move away from the river as we continue north, we will traverse the Gap and reach Doriath's borders with ease," he said. "Reaching the coast, however, depends upon finding a way across the Sirion. It might be an interesting excursion," he conceded, looking around at the assembled faces, "But it might well add a year to our journey. And when we finally turned for home, we would have to pass through territory - not our own."

He carefully avoided looking in Galadriel's direction when he made this veiled reference to the Noldor lands that stretched between the coast and their final destination.

Elfaron, who had more of a pioneering spirit, said easily, "We have been gone over a hundred and forty sun years, Arasdínen. What difference will a few more make? I vote we follow the Lady to the shore. Like her, I have a yen to see sunlight glittering upon the sea."

They always called her the Lady. No-one was quite sure when it began, but she never insisted on the rank that was hers by birth and marriage. The Lady suited her far more, and she took it for her own.

Voices were raised, ideas exchanged, and Celeborn grew concerned as the debate became heated. In truth, the decision to go in search of Cirdan's cities had been a matter between himself and Galadriel. The adventure would buy them time, preferable to following the straight route home which would see her turn left for Nargothrond rather than pass Doriath's borders. She loved Finrod dearly, and pausing to greet him would be unremarkable - but Celeborn strongly suspected that, once within Nargothrond's halls, she might refuse to leave.

"What of a compromise?"

Mîrant was the voice of calm in many a dispute, and Celeborn had learned to value her common sense. Everyone had assumed he would be a leader of unchallengeable authority, for such were the ways of Doriath, but it went against his personal preference for discussion and consensus. Galadriel had said more than once that the king made Feanor look open and reasonable and Celeborn had privately agreed with her. Debate, loud and occasionally acrimonious, had become the modus vivendi in Edenbar.

Now he looked to Mîrant. "Share your thoughts with us, wise one."

Through all this Galadriel sat silent beside him. Normally her voice was raised as part of any discussion, because she had opinions about almost everything, but in this matter, knowing her choice biased, she had held her peace. Now she nodded encouragement. She was fond of Mîrant who had spent long hours helping her to become more proficient in homely crafts like weaving and sewing.

Mîrant smoothed down her robe and smiled around. "There are some here who wish to see their home and their loved ones, and for whom the waiting grows long... but there are others with a desire to see new lands, meet new faces. Their wishes are of equal value." The murmur of agreement that had greeted her first words fell away to silence. "What I am suggesting is that we form two groups. One would follow the straight road home, while Prince Celeborn would lead the other in search of a way across the river."

"Surely it is the Prince's duty to lead us home? Let those who wish for adventure choose another to lead them." The speaker had no love for the prince's Noldor mate. Mîrant, anticipating, shook her head as argument resumed.

"It would be strange," she said, raising her voice to be heard clearly, "If the party that presented itself to Lord Cirdan were headed by anyone less than our King's kinsman. It is a matter of respect. By the will of the Shining Ones, all that those who travel home will require of a leader is that he knows what to do about orcs or other undesirables."

No-one, not even the most partisan elf in favour of an immediate and speedy return home, could fault the logic of her suggestions. Celeborn called a vote as had become his way, and there was no dissent. The elves formed two groups, the larger of which would travel direct to Doriath. Mîrant and Elfaron were part of the far smaller party that would seek out the Lord of the Falas. After, they all sat talking through the night, their last time together as a single, united community.

When dawn broke they divided horses and possessions, took in some cases emotional leave one of the other, and set out. They walked together for the first half day, then slowly diverged, the one group turning true north, the other angling west. For a time there was much calling back and forth - laughter, well wishes, last minute messages to be carried home. Finally the distance became too great, and with final waves each party turned to face their destination and moved on alone.

\-----

"No, no, its fangs, NO!"

They had followed the Sirion for days, drawing ever closer to the ocean. Celeborn was worried. There was no crossing point, certainly no ford. The scouts he sent out reported that the land split broadly, allowing the mighty river to empty into the ocean. Galadriel had no suggestions to offer, which made him realise just how much he had come to rely on her cool logic. She walked in silence, her eyes inward-looking, and when he asked what ailed she made no answer beyond a small, tired smile and a shake of the head. Sometimes whispers of other times and places reached her, and he had learned to let her be until they passed. Now, alone, he mulled over their options with concern. The most likely choice was to turn east, hoping to find a place the river could be breached, but that might take them too far inland to make the search for Eglarest practical.

Sounds of an approaching horse heralded the return of the final scout, Elfaron. The elf slid lightly from his mount's back and made his way over to Celeborn. The line of walkers paused, waited.

"Nothing," he told Celeborn, shaking his head to the hopeful faces. "But there is a village down by the shore. I could see smoke and I think there are boats drawn up from the water. We could approach them?"

"Elves?"

"That I cannot say, my Lord."

Celeborn was about to ask more - he never remembered what - when Galadriel's scream split the air as she fell to the ground, her body writhing. He raced to her side, pushing elves out of his way, ignoring startled exclamations, and tried to take her into his arms, but she twisted free with a strength belied by her slender build. All he could do was attempt to keep her from hurting herself as she struggled, fighting against an unseen enemy. Her words were unintelligible, her eyes wide, staring, fixed on an invisible menace. Mîrant was a faint voice in the background as she organised the rest of the party, telling them to find shelter from the wind and open the afternoon's ration early. She came and knelt beside him.

"My lord, what does she see? It is - some kind of fit?"

He shook his head grimly. Galadriel was frantic, her nails digging into dirt, her head tossing back and forth, her hair dragging through the sand. "This is like the other times, but worse. I have no idea what she sees, how to help her..."

"She will harm herself." Concerned, Mîrant tried to hold onto a flailing arm. Galadriel tore free, then followed through with a blow that landed Mîrant on her back. Celeborn grabbed hold of his wife and shook her, worry sinking into fear. The nights during the war when her fea had witnessed her brothers' deaths had left him terrified that one day something would happen and she might not be able to come back. This - this was far worse than then. Crying out hoarsely, she twisted and struggled in his grasp, her face sweat-streaked, her lips drawn back in a snarl. Almost breaking loose, she lunged for his throat and on instinct he drew back his hand and slapped her, a blow so harsh it stung his palm.

For a moment there was total silence broken only by the call of seabirds, then Galadriel blinked and stared at him, finally seeing him. Celeborn paused, then carefully put his arms around her. As her head slowly began to droop, he drew her close.

Far in the north on the island once known as Tol Sirion, Finrod Felagund lost his unequal battle against the werewolf, his golden light slipping into the place of darkness beyond which lay Lord Námo's halls. Of all the bright-haired children of Finarfin and Eärwen, only their daughter remained.

"Findaráto?" she breathed, the voice that had screamed and raged now little more than a whisper. " Findaráto." Then she subsided against Celeborn and the tears began.

\------

He carried her, and they followed the plume of smoke. The shore dwellers, busy smoking fish for the lean months, came out to watch their approach, amazed. They turned out to be fishers from the village on the other side of the estuary, elves owing allegiance to Cirdan. No, they told Elfaron, they knew of no way across the river, no shelter other than their own rough housing; shallow caves set in the cliffside. They sent covert glances to the silver-haired lord, very like their own in appearance, who stood grim-faced, the golden-haired female held almost possessively in his arms. She was tall for one of her gender, taller than any of their own mates, but he held her as though she were feather-light.

Finally, after close questions as to their identity and destination, the leader had a suggestion. After a glance at the lord from Doriath, he decided rather to address it to Elfaron. "We have nothing here for you, no more than shelter from the wind for the night," he explained carefully, trying to match speech so that there would be no misunderstandings. "Our village you can see over there across the water..." He pointed. "We have food enough for ourselves, little to share, no space for so many guests. But..." He took Elfaron's arm, turned him to face the sea. "We could take you out to the Island. It will mean several trips, but it can be done."

The landmass loomed against the sky, blue-green and distant. "An hour, no more," he expanded, seeing the uncertain glance Elfaron sent to his companions. "Lord Cirdan has warriors garrisoned there to protect this part of the coast. The Strangers have people there too; they build ships." He indicated the golden haired one as he spoke. She would be one of them. What she did in this company was not for him to ask. Normally her kind travelled in armed groups on tall horses and kept to themselves.

"She needs shelter, somewhere warm and safe," Mîrant said to Elfaron in an undertone. She looked out towards the island, then across at Celeborn. He seemed to have heard nothing of the conversation, but stood staring straight ahead, heedless of the wind blowing his hair. "I think we should accept the offer, Elfaron. Either that or at least try the village for overnight."

"The island," Celeborn said, the first time he had spoken since he had lifted Galadriel into his arms and begun walking towards the sea. "That would be Balar - holy land, a portion of Tol Eressëa itself they say. The island will be a good place to rest."

 

~Balar

The island had been the right choice. Once the warriors who met them at the quayside had heard their story and noted Celeborn's faint resemblance to Cirdan, including the tell-tale silver hair of the Sindarin royal house, they were given food and shelter and bombarded with questions. Galadriel was put to bed in the main room of the commander's house, gladly vacated for such an unlikely guest. True, there were Noldor on the island, on the western end, but none of them had the famed golden hair denoting Vanya descent.

Days passed and Galadriel's mind healed, although she never lost the memory of fangs sinking into her brother's flesh. For her, neither Beren nor his quest could ever be worth the cost. Cirdan, notified of their presence, sent word that Elu Thingol's nephew and his people were welcome to remain on Balar for as long as they wished, and offered the use of his own small house for the prince and his lady. Galadriel turned wide, pleading eyes to Celeborn, one of the few times since they had met that she ever asked anything of him, and he nodded, no words being necessary. He knew she could not yet pass the trail that led to Nargothrond, that the road north was currently more than her heart could bear.

The Noldor shipbuilders, Turgon's people, came to pay their respects to Finarfin's daughter, offering her their hospitality, but she thanked them and chose to remain in Círdan's small but comfortable house. Many of their followers chose to take ship back to the mainland and adventure along the shore, still with a mind to see Eglarest. Celeborn and Galadriel remained on Balar with perhaps ten others, including Elfaron and Mîrant who stood close to binding. He had found welcome amongst the warriors manning this final watch station along the coast and she took delight in the island, studying its plants and herbs. She had developed a close attachment to Galadriel; if the Lady chose to remain, she told her prospective mate, so would she.

Now, on a night in the four hundred and seventy-second year after the return of the Noldor to Endor, Celeborn of Doriath and Galadriel, once known as Artanis of Tirion, stood together staring across the sea at land etched dark against the night sky. It was Celeborn who first saw what they seemed to have been waiting for, and he moved his head forward to rest his chin on her shoulder. "Over there to the left," he said. "Lights. Torches, I think."

She looked where he pointed and they watched a wavering line of tiny lights appear along the shore, twinkling distantly like wind-tossed stars. "Walkers, not riders," she commented. "Too slow. But so many..."

"Too many," he agreed grimly. "Something terrible has happened."

Galadriel moved very slightly. "Again."

They waited through the night as though keeping vigil over the flickering snake of light. When Celeborn finally went to make tea, he found Mîrant in the kitchen ahead of him. Slowly, first the garrison, then the household, then the rest of the residents of the small harbour town roused and came out of their homes to watch the approach of dread; the sheer number of torches spoke for themselves.

The sky was light when the first boats set sail from the village. By this time Galadriel had given instructions for food to be prepared and for those with healing skills to make ready to cross the water. On Celeborn's instructions the island's boats were not launched and the warriors waited on full alert until they knew who and what they had to deal with. The identity of the first person to disembark on the quayside told its own story. Tall, broad shouldered, his silver hair fastened back in a single, practical braid, his clothes soot-blackened, torn, and stained with what could only be blood, Cirdan of the Falas greeted his Dorian kinsman with a tired nod. His pale blue eyes assessed the reception with something like relief: the warriors drawn up in good order, food in baskets, a small group of elves, mainly female, with the tools of the healer's trade.

"Eglarest?" Celeborn asked briefly.

"And Brithombar." Círdan's voice was rough with weariness. "We were overrun, there was no way to withstand them. The Noldor act with scant unity now that Turgon holds the high kingship. The Dark One's armies swept through their lands unhindered."

His eyes moved to Galadriel standing tight-lipped near Celeborn, noting her lack of surprise at his words. While he was speaking a child had disembarked and stood looking around curiously. Clear blue eyes dominated a tired, dirt-streaked face, dark hair curled carelessly loose about small shoulders. He was very young, not much above twenty. As he drew level with Círdan, the lord glanced down, then back at Finarfin's daughter.

"Your nephew Orodreth sent him to me for fostering. He sensed the Falas would be safer than Nargothrond. Instinct seems to have failed your line here." With a hand to the boy's back he urged him forward. "Greet your aunt, Rodnor Gil-galad."

Out of all the pain and darkness that had overtaken their line, something yet remained. A smile kindled in Galadriel's eyes and twitched the corner of her mouth. "I know you, El-tithen," she said softly. "I sensed your birth. Welcome home."

 

finis

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: Ilye Elf


End file.
